


Break Me Free

by Smontheye



Series: Break Me Free [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Deadlock Gang, Domestic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pre-Series, References to Drugs, Shimada Clan - Freeform, Young Hanzo Shimada, Young Jesse McCree, young au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smontheye/pseuds/Smontheye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Deadlock sent him to the headquarters of the world’s most powerful criminal empire with nothing but a case of guns and a business proposal, Jesse McCree didn't expect to not die. He didn't expect to speak more than three words to the handsome, stoic Shimada heir. And, he certainly didn't expect to come home a changed man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Me Free

—

_“It is the beautiful bird which gets caged.”_

_–Old Chinese Proverb_

—

_“…a criminal searching for his redemption, cursing at God, desperately trying to get his attention...”_

_–“Crimes of the Heart,” Immortal Technique_

—

Jesse straightened his crisp white button-up as he made his way down to Arrivals, sharp eyes scanning for a sign to lead him to Public Transportation. By the grace of God, everything was labeled in English as well as Japanese.

Rather than bother with the packed escalators, he easily hefted his cabinet-sized piece of luggage onto his shoulder. With cheerfulness in his step, Jesse walked towards an information desk as if he were carrying a sack of feathers instead of 126 pounds of contraband and fifteen pounds of his nicest clothes and toiletries.

“Howdy, Miss. You look mighty fine today.” Jesse flashed the young lady behind the counter one of his signature sunny smiles. “Would you mind helpin’ me get to Hanamura from here?”

Like most ladies Jesse smiled at, she was happy to comply. So it worked overseas, too. The slight inconvenience caused by her blushing and stuttering through the entire conversation was worth it for Jesse. Always nice to make pretty things happy.

A marked map in hand, he left to the gratuitously ego-inflating sounds of the lady and her friend whispering to each other in excited Japanese.

The best part of being outta the countryside, Jesse decided, was how easy it was to get places. Back in Middle-of-Nowhere, New Mexico, the only way he could get to Santa Fe was with a tank full of gasoline. Yep, _gasoline_ , like it was still the twentieth century.

Despite the lagging technology of their realm, the Deadlock Gang prided itself on absolute control over arms trafficking in the American Southwest. Export, import, distribution, even regulation. What they lacked in global reach they made up for in comprehensive power. Much safer to be a deep lake than a shallow ocean.

But even the deepest lake needs tributaries.

Which is why Jesse, who spent his entire life in New Mexico, was currently on the other side of the world. To babysit a peace offering. And, on the off chance he survived that, to give a charming Western accent to the Deadlock’s proposition.

A chance to impress the Shimada Clan was a rare and dangerous blessing.

And, apparently, the Deadlock overlords considered him the perfect combination of skilled and expendable for the mission. Skilled because he was the best fighter and talker among his pack of recruits, and expendable for almost the same reason—he was just a seventeen year old recruit.

Unthreatening to the Shimada and easy to manipulate to the Deadlock. He was used to it.

“Gomen, ma’am.” Jesse called, casting a friendly smile as he almost mowed down a woman and her kid with his burden. The woman muttered something outside of Jesse’s limited Japanese vocabulary that sounded fascinatingly vicious.

He didn’t have time to request a translation because the bus drew to an abrupt halt at his stop. With a wink at the lady, Jesse hopped off.

His first order of business was to get some delicious authentic Japanese food inside him. He had been too keyed up that morning to eat, and who knows when he’d have another chance?

Fortunately, there was a ramen place right across the street.

As with everywhere in Japan he went, he got a few curious gazes as he walked into the joint. After scanning the options, he plopped himself down next to a long-haired girl sitting by herself.

“The tonkotsu, please,” he said to the server. He had to lean down significantly to catch the man’s response. Huh, maybe that was why. Jesse was a head taller than most of the folks here. “Tap water’s fine.”

Never one to waste a good opportunity, Jesse turned to the young woman beside him and braced a hand on the back of her seat.

“So, what’s a sweet girl like you doin’ eating alone?”

That did not elicit the reaction he expected. The girl froze and turned her head slowly, the fiercest glare Jesse had ever seen in mocha-colored eyes.

Oh, shit.

“Oh, shit. You’re a fella.”

“You are an idiot,” the stranger growled in shockingly well-pronounced English before turning away.

In Jesse’s defense, not many guys in New Mexico had hair that went down their back. Or hands that slender and elegant. Or a cute, pointed nose. Or high, dainty cheekbones…

“Sorry, partner,” Jesse rushed to say. “I, uh, still think you’re really cute. Jesse’s the name.” He stuck his hand out.

The Cute Boy gave him a look like he thought Jesse had mental issues before glaring at the proffered hand. “Do yourself a favor and cease talking to me.”

Jesse chuckled, pulling his hand back to scratch the back of his head. “Guess I deserve that. There anything I can do for a second chance?”

In lieu of an answer, the Cute Boy reached into his loose robe and set a few bills on the counter. As annoyed as he looked, his tone was polite, apologetic as he spoke to the server in soft Japanese.

Faster than Jesse could utter something like, “Hold up now, handsome,” the Cute Boy left the joint.

“See ya around!” Jesse called. He felt like he lost something significant, which was odd because all the skillful seduction in the world couldn’t change the fact a quick hook-up was the most it could’ve amounted to. They came from completely different worlds.

Well, there were plenty of fish.

Didn’t stop him from admiring the view of the Cute Boy leaving, though.

—

The Shimada Castle was one of the few places left in the world that actually deserved the “Castle” part of its name.

It was a massive, sprawling estate with more blossoming cherry trees and courtyards than Jesse had cents in his pocket on a good day. The spotless walls and traditional architecture made his permanently dusty boots and cheap button-up feel saliently out of place.

And uncultured.

Each room he passed as he followed a haughty and well-dressed guard featured some form of art—wall-sized paintings, calligraphy, and sculptures. Everything, even the rocks outside, seemed deliberately arranged to maximize some intangible sense of harmony.

It was like walking through a museum. A disconcertingly soft part of him that wasn’t a criminal goon ached to learn—to try to understand a culture he’d only seen on travel shows.

The majority of Jesse, though, was worried about breaking something. That was never a problem in the dry, wind-swept dump that was home.

The Deadlock Gang leaders never pooled their wealth or spent money this conspicuously. Or this classily. From what Jesse saw, they squandered all their cash on imported booze, imported cigars, and imported guns. And local women.

The Shimada wasn’t a criminal organization, it was a criminal _dynasty_.

Glancing at the disciplined line of the guard’s back, Jesse wondered if the Shimada’s ties of blood bit harder than the Deadlock’s ties of money. It didn’t make much of a difference, he supposed. They all walked the same road. Paving it with fine art instead of bullet casings and exorbitant cigars wouldn’t change a thing.

It was a path that unerringly led Jesse to trouble. In this case, the pleasant company of Japan’s largest weapons trafficker.

The room in which the clan head received him was the most spacious yet.

The first sight to strike him was the massive painting dominating the back wall. Unlike most of the others, it had color: muted greens and blues and reds and grays.

Jesse was mesmerized.

Two dueling dragons twisted in the air high above misty, snowy mountains. The endless curved lines of their bodies made the motionless ink look alive, dynamic. Despite their bestial rage, the dragon’s faces held extraterrestrial intelligence. The pale, purple-tinted mountain range beyond them receded into the canvas in a way that would have been majestic if it didn’t feel so horrific. Lovecraftian.

The divine creatures soared uncaringly above everything, aware only of each other. Maybe a reminder for fragile mankind to never get too full of themselves.

Jesse probably would’ve sat there ogling it all day if he hadn’t been interrupted by his host.

—

“Do you enjoy this piece? It has been in our family for countless generations. Two dragon brothers who can stand to be neither together nor apart. Tell me, Stranger, do you have a brother?”

“No, Shimada-sama. To be honest, I don’t have much family at all.”

“Ah, but that is a lie. Your family has sent you to the belly of the Shimada beast.”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“I do not see it any other way. But our values are irrelevant to business. Please introduce yourself. You already know who I am.”

“McCree. Jesse McCree, here on behalf of the Deadlock Gang. I’ve brought—”

“Welcome to my home, McCree. Forgive me, but when we permitted the Deadlock to send only one delegate, we did not expect a lanky beanpole who has yet to finish high school.”

“I ain’t got any illusions of superiority for you to crush, Shimada-sama. We both know whose turf I’m on. I have real strict, real specific instructions, so you’re wastin’ your time if you try intimidating me.”

“Hm. I apologize if I seem eager to underestimate you, McCree. You already seem smarter than you look.”

“Lucky for you, I got thick skin. Now, I brought several models—”

“Typical American. So eager to get down to business. You must have had a tiring trip. Leave your possessions here. We will return what you need and not touch the rest. Son, escort our guest to his room so he can settle in.”

“Hold up, I booked a hotel—”                         

“Nonsense. No guest of mine will live like a piece of tourist garbage. Hanzo?”

—

“As you wish, Father.” A voice from close behind Jesse responded, causing him to jump a foot in the air. “McCree-san. Please come this way.”

“Man, creak a floorboard or something,” Jesse complained. But he didn’t have long to feel pissed at the abruptly concluded meeting or being subtly put under surveillance. He turned around and stopped short.

It was the Cute Boy.

The Cute Boy—no, _Hanzo_ freakin’ _Shimada_ —immediately gave him a glare that said something like “Shut the hell up before you hit on the son of one of the most powerful men in Japan right in front of him.”

Yeah, something like that. Good advice.

As Jesse followed Hanzo like an oversized duckling through the estate’s corridors, he found himself unable to stop staring at the back of Hanzo’s neck. Thanks to his significant height advantage, Hanzo’s untied hair, and a loose yukata, Jesse had a great view of where a graceful, pale neck met toned shoulders.

In addition to revolver-wielding and eating his bodyweight in junk food without gaining a fiber of fat, one of Jesse’s talents was apparently getting horny for inappropriate reasons. He _really_ wanted to bite the firm muscle to keep Hanzo still and tug down the expensive cloth. See where could make the other flush.

Chill out. Use your words.

“So,” Jesse broke the silence, drawing out the “o” sound. “Nice to see you again. Ya know, from the ramen place. You’re his son, huh?”

Hanzo glanced back at him, looking suspicious. “Befriending me will not help you,” he responded curtly.                                                                  

“Lucky I don’t like mixin’ business and pleasure then. Or friendship, if that’s what you wanna call it. I don’t usually go for the ones that play hard to get. Just so you know.”

“That is hard to believe.” Hanzo watched him. “You seemed like a _ladies’_ man at Rikimaru.”

“Yeah, sorry we started off on the wrong foot.” Jesse combed his fingers through his hair sheepishly when Hanzo raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, you’re cute. And I go both ways. Means I don’t miss anything, ya know?”

That, of all things, got a chuckle out of the Shimada heir. It was brief, but, Christ almighty, Hanzo’s laugh was the most adorable thing Jesse had ever heard. It was a low, rumbling sound that converted his restrained elegance into something infinitely more genuine.

Jesse needed it again.

“You’ve got a cute laugh,” was the ingenious reaction his brain came up with.

Hanzo gave him a strange, calculating look, but something unreadable, different from hostility, bloomed in his eyes. When Hanzo stepped closer, Jesse felt like a charmed snake. “Cute. Is that the only flattering word you know?”

“I know tons,” Jesse replied eagerly, really hoping this was going the way he thought it was. “You’re handsome. You’re hot. I barely know you but I want you to be happy. Your neck makes me hungry even though I just ate—uh!”

Jesse almost got whiplash as his shirt was abruptly yanked downwards _hard_. He slouched with it, and his lips immediately collided with Hanzo’s. When his jaw opened reflexively to gasp, a quick tongue dipped into his mouth forcefully.

The fist in his collar kept tugging, this time _forward_ , and Jesse managed enough awareness to notice they were crossing the threshold of a guest room.

The moment of blindsided shock over, Jesse’s less gentlemanly side took over.

He let one hand drop to Hanzo’s hip while the other one tangled into soft black hair. With the grip, he hauled Hanzo bodily against him. Slightly offset by their height difference, Hanzo’s hard, lean torso rippled against Jesse’s. His tongue greeted Hanzo’s, slick and warm and slightly ramen-flavored.

Jesse moaned into Hanzo’s mouth. It was just a kiss, but it was somehow hotter than anything he’d experienced. He moved his hands to Hanzo’s face so his thumbs could stroke those sinful, smooth cheekbones.

Hands, touching and groping through the cotton of his shirt, moved to Jesse’s chest. Hanzo’s palms flattened, waited a beat, and then pushed their bodies apart. Jesse groaned in protest, trying briefly to force Hanzo back against him before coming to his senses.

Just as abruptly as it began, the kiss ended.

“That was, uh…sudden.” Jesse wiped their mixed saliva from his mouth. “Not that I…minded…at all…” His speech petered off as Hanzo leaned in again as if to kiss his neck. He stopped, lips inches away from Jesse’s burning skin.

“No outsider has spoken so brazenly to my father and been rewarded for it. You are,” Hanzo paused for a moment, during which his breath fanned warm across Jesse’s ear. “Easy to underestimate.”

Jesse felt lightheaded. He barely registered the door clicking closed as Hanzo left.

—

Apparently Jesse’s irreverence wasn’t enough to keep the clan head from skipping town on some important business the next morning. If it hadn’t granted him a free day of trying to get into the Shimada heir’s pants, the make-him-feel-neglected tactic might have worked.

That is if Hanzo was still interested. Since he didn’t know shit about the Castle’s layout, he was left waiting for the heir to come to him.

Not for long.                                           

Jesse found himself answering a knock on his door less than an hour after his room service-style breakfast. He didn’t expect what he saw on the other side.

“Uh, howdy.”

Standing too far away to be polite was a teenager dressed in casual exercise clothes who looked a few years younger than Jesse. But that wasn’t what made him stare.

The kid had bright green hair. It clashed with everything. An obtrusive challenge to the traditional appearances the Shimada curated.

“Morning, McCree-san,” he greeted with a half-assed bow. “Hanzo wants you to join his tea party.” He smirked at his own joke. “I’ll show you where.”

Since the kid was shifting impatiently on his heels, Jesse didn’t waste time deciding to follow him. That, and the promise of seeing Hanzo.

“What’s your name, kid?”

When the boy rolled his eyes and didn’t answer, Jesse persisted.

“You know who I am. Ain’t it fair to at least introduce yourself?”

“Genji.” His chilliness erased all doubt that he was a Shimada. They walked in silence for a few seconds before Jesse spoke again.

“Don’t ya like meeting new people? It’s good to have that kind of experience in your family’s line of business.”

The kid whipped around abruptly, wearing an angry expression that would’ve taken Jesse aback if it didn’t distinctly resemble Hanzo’s in the ramen joint. It looked out of place with the jaunty shade of his hair.

“I already know your kind, McCree,” Genji growled, suddenly sounding decades older. “And I do not give a shit about you. You are a parasite addicted to money and glory. You do not care for the thousands of lives that are ruined by weapons you sell.”

Jesse raised his hands in surrender. “Whoa, hold on—”

“Hanzo is around that corner,” Genji interrupted him, gesturing sharply in the direction of a wide courtyard. With that, the kid left, front flipping over a high wall in the opposite direction.

The Shimada had a flair for dramatic exits, Jesse reflected.

When Jesse approached, Hanzo was sitting at a low table, legs folded neatly underneath himself. On the expensive-looking dark wood of the table sat what looked like most of a tea set and some implements Jesse didn’t recognize.

Hanzo nodded in greeting, and Jesse wondered if he was ever going to get used to how attractive the Shimada was. Like he was bred like royalty to be ruthlessly beautiful. Out of Jesse’s league.

Like last night, his long hair was tied back in a loose, low ponytail. Symmetrical bangs framed prominent cheek bones and a regal face. A navy kimono put his pale throat and arching collarbones on delicious display. 

Hanzo eyed him. “You look like you just saw a snake.”                                           

“Can’t imagine why. That kid you sent was a real ray of sunshine.”

“Genji is my brother.” Hanzo commented, though he sounded more disappointed than offended. He didn’t make eye-contact with Jesse, choosing instead to inspect a small silver sieve. “He plays in the arcade all day and has no interest the Clan. But he is as brilliant with the sword as he is stubborn.”

“And just a kid,” Jesse replied, combing his hand through his shaggy hair. He took a seat across from Hanzo, knee propped up. “Not speaking from experience, but I hear childhood is worth protecting.” It was hard to blame the kid, considering his family.

“Sometimes we are simply locked in by fate. Genji is old enough to understand that.” Despite the words, Hanzo’s tone was of wary acceptance.

Jesse found himself leaning forward, trying to absorb every word, every precious hint at Hanzo’s inner self that the conversation bared. As he spoke, Hanzo placed the sieve over the heavyset, lacquered bowl on Jesse’s side of the table. He picked up a wooden cylindrical container and twisted the cap off with a dextrous flick of fingers.

“So you think he’s wrong then?” Jesse pressed. “About fate and guns and everything?” He watched with interest as his host used a curved bamboo spoon to scoop out fine, green powder.

“He despises me for doing my duty.” Hanzo replied, exhaling. The breath sent strands of his bangs fluttering. “As heir…and as his brother. And perhaps he should. But he is wrong that there is a choice.” He tipped a few scoops of the powder through the strainer and into Jesse’s bowl. “If he does not want to serve tea to you, then I will do it.”

Hanzo’s tone was resigned, but not bitter.

“You’re sacrificing your freedom for his,” Jesse realized, amazed. He hadn’t thought he could get more attracted to Hanzo. “You’re protecting him.”

Hanzo frowned as if chagrined for revealing so much. To Jesse’s dismay, he rapidly fixed the breaks in his mask of dutiful indifference. “My brother and my responsibilities are none of your business, McCree.”

“You already told me you wouldn’t help me with Shimada stuff. Not sure what to say to make you believe I’m _into_ you, not _after_ you.” He tried to push the honesty of those words into his expression, but Hanzo had closed off. His dark lashes were lowered, his gaze on his working hands. Avoidant.

Since Hanzo had pretty hands, Jesse looked down too.

After removing the sieve, Hanzo lifted the dark ceramic tea pot by its arched handle and poured steaming water into the matching bowl of powder. Disturbed, the green flecks swirled and lapped restlessly at the smooth black walls.

Jesse was enraptured. There lived a ceremonial reverence in each of Hanzo’s movements. In the trembling of his eyelids as his gaze darted. The way his lovely neck bowed in concentration. The contrast between the dark tea set and his pale fingers.

Beauty Jesse felt honored to witness. The paintings could go to hell.  They were bland compared to Hanzo.

“Try not to think too hard,” the subject of his attention smirked. “You might hurt yourself.”

“I…” Jesse darted his eyes from the flexing of Hanzo’s slim, angular wrist as he swirled the rich green mixture with a brush-like bamboo whisk. “I was just thinkin’ that you’re beautiful.”

That caught Hanzo off guard—he nearly whisked the tea right out of the bowl. “Stop talking to me like that. You sound…” He trailed off, uncomfortable, skittish.

“Why no—” Jesse’s eyes widened when Hanzo abruptly lifted the heavy bowl and held it out to him, right in his face.

Was Hanzo blushing? _God_ , he was going to be the death of Jesse…

Rather than take the ceramic from him, he wrapped his fingers around Hanzo’s wrist and guided the rim to his lips.

Hanzo miraculously didn’t smash the bowl into Jesse’s head, though he got the feeling that had more to do with the price of the tea set than benevolence.

Either way, the look on Hanzo’s face made the gamble worth it. His dark eyes went half-lidded, and his pink lips parted. When Jesse swallowed the bittersweet, earthy liquid, Hanzo’s eyes were on his throat.

Nice to know they were on the same page. Jesse braced a hand on the side of the low table, ready to shove it out of the way so he could pounce unimpeded.

Then, Hanzo put the tea down deliberately. He raised his hand and slapped Jesse in the face. _Hard_.

“Fuck!” Jesse recoiled. He blinked the ominous bursts of white light out of his vision. “Fucking _ow_. That was kinda girly, but guess I deserve it. Saying ‘no thanks’ would’ve worked too.”

“You are obnoxiously forward.” Warmth lingered on his cheeks, but Hanzo’s expression was cold and focused.

“Hey, I’m not the one who shoved your tongue down my throat yesterday.”

“I thought you were smart enough to know the difference between _this_ and that, McCree.”

And yeah, Jesse did. It was why he was desperately trying to change the tone of what burned between them. Of course, he wanted Hanzo’s body, but his wants weren’t just dictated by his dick.

If only it were that simple.

Despite all the bravado, Jesse was miles out of his usual depth. There wasn’t much time for feelings when everyone he met had knives hidden in their underwear. Love was for those too weak to seek power. And those too rich to be hurt. That just wasn’t who Jesse was, or wanted to be. Jesse played game. He preyed on people who were that idealistic.

But this unbalanced confusion, the need to fill an emptiness that never ached before—he could see it in Hanzo too. In the way the Shimada heir hovered and stared, wanting to push Jesse away yet not. In the way he left too many breadcrumbs like he was hoping Jesse would find him.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

Before Hanzo’s hands could twitch towards the tea set again, Jesse pulled them into his own.

Hanzo watched him like a startled deer. Before the highly trained ninja could come to his senses and break Jesse’s wrists, he spoke, quick and impulsive.

“Listen, partner, since you’re not great at subtlety. I don’t want to fuck you over. And I don’t just want to fuck you. Will you stop turning this into a battlefield? I don’t know about you, darlin’, but I get enough of that bullshit from everyone else.”

For a tense moment, Hanzo simply glared at Jesse. His penetrating gaze searched for insincerity like a predator searches a herd of prey for weak pickings. Jesse felt intimidated, but not fearful. How could he lie to this dangerous and beautiful creature? When so much was at stake?

Then, Hanzo sighed, his shoulders curving forward as if seeking reassurance. “You know that emotional investment between us cannot last. It will…hurt, in the end.”

“But do you want it?” Jesse pressed.

“My family—and your gang—give us no choice, McCree.”

“That isn’t what I asked. Do you want me, Hanzo?” Jesse released one of Hanzo’s wrists in favor of tugging his chin up. When their eyes met, Hanzo’s were full of conflict. “Do you want me to want you?”

Jesse didn’t let go, waiting patiently for the brown depths to clear up, to come to a decision. When the silence stretched, Jesse sighed and pulled away. A fierce, alien pain tore through his chest.

“I can’t expect you to mean it if you’re not ready.”

“Wait, Jesse—”

Fucking _hell_ , his first name sounded sweet on Hanzo’s tongue. Hands, slim and calloused, suddenly framed Jesse’s face and tugged him even farther forward than he was before. Jesse braced a hand on the table so he didn’t have to hover dangerously over it.

Their faces were so, so close, and Jesse’s mind went blank for a moment. Hanzo’s dark eyes pinned him. Jesse felt faint when Hanzo’s cute, pink tongue darted out to lick his matching pink lips.

“Is that a ‘yeah’ then?”

“ _Yes_.” Hanzo purred like a cat that had caught a bird.

“Why?”

“It will hurt,” the Shimada heir admitted, “but not as much as when you pulled away.”

“Better to have loved and lost.” Jesse could get behind that sentiment. Heart soaring like it was riding one of those painted dragons, he leaned in. The urge to taste the smooth expanse of Hanzo’s neck was intolerable.

He didn’t get there. Hanzo flicked Jesse on the nose like he was chastising a misbehaving dog.

“I have given you a chance, not permission.” His lips twitched in a soft, sly smirk. “Besides, I will not waste tea.”

Jesse gaped, eyes wide with betrayal. How the hell could Hanzo expect him to focus on anything else right now? To back away from the cusp of the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt was impossible.

“Do not be so dramatic.” The smirk got broader. “You want to do more than fuck, right?”

 _Fuck_. The way Hanzo’s voice wrapped around that word made Jesse _burn_. His fingers itched to grab and shove and take. But he took a stabilizing deep breath—the heady smell of Hanzo did _not_ help—and rocked back, catching himself with his palms.

Jesse McCree was nothing if not a man of his word.

“You wanna be wooed? I’ll woo you.” Jesse shot him the same sunny grin he gave the Information lady at the airport, though it was probably tinged dark and predatory. “Tell me, sweetheart, do ya need a hero?”

“Try again.” Hanzo flicked Jesse’s nose again.

“Fine,” He groused, watching with dismay as he lost Hanzo’s attention to a tea pot. White steam rose between them as Hanzo poured water into his own cup. “Talk to me about this high-flautin’ tea that’s got your panties in a bunch.”

That was somehow the right thing to say, because Hanzo rewarded him with a smile. Jesse decided he would sell his soul faster than Angel Eyes to see Hanzo smile all the time.

“ _Matcha_.” Hanzo explained, watching with an adorable expression of pride as Jesse polished off his serving. “I do not know the steps of ceremonial preparation, but I have had the honor of witnessing it a few times.”

“Sounds real special.”

“It is,” Hanzo said before taking a long sip, eyes shuttering closed in reverence. When he returned his gaze to Jesse’s, it held a fragile peace. “Long ago, the ceremony was used to welcome strangers. To build bonds between warriors and nobles and merchants that would have otherwise never met.”

That made Jesse smile. “Seems like things haven’t changed.”

“Change never comes as quickly as we think,” Hanzo replied, though he didn’t sound like he was talking to his guest anymore. Jesse felt all the more need to unpack that statement.

“For someone who only follows family tradition so his kid brother doesn’t hafta, ya sure are into this old cultural stuff.”

Jesse’s streak of saying the right thing ended right there. Hanzo’s eyes blazed while his walls popped up, locking Jesse out.

“Do not tell me how to feel about my family, Deadlock. You know nothing.”

“Wasn’t. It was just an observation.” Jesse frowned. “Sometimes you gotta say what you know to know what you’re saying. You know?”

Dark eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Yeah, that made more sense in my head.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Guess I am. An idiot who won’t gut you the moment you open up.” If Jesse repeated himself enough, maybe Hanzo would realize it was safe to be vulnerable with him. Convincing the Shimada heir of that was like looking for the center of a labyrinth—the way was fraught with riddles and demons, and Jesse was probably going to die in the process.

“You are looking in the wrong place. Tea is…not about me,” Hanzo closed his eyes. “I do not expect a cowboy to understand spiritual contemplation.”

“Seems like a waste of time.”

His eyes reopened and glared. “Obviously every minute of _your_ time is spent with utmost care.”

“Hell yeah. Boys like me don’t live long.”

When Hanzo looked upset by that, Jesse’s heart soared. Until Hanzo’s expression contorted with anger.

“Is that how you justify being an idiot? You think you can throw away your life because no one values it?”

Well, that kinda hurt. Denying it felt like lying. “I just don’t like bein’ bored,” Jesse said, probably sounding too defensive. He waited for Hanzo to force the subject, to tear into his contradictions and insecurities. There was plenty of ammunition…

“I do not understand you, McCree,” Hanzo finally uttered, though something about his voice made Jesse doubt that.

“Same to you, Shimada.” Jesse huffed a laugh. “Guess that means we’re human.”

“Human…” Hanzo tasted the word. Suddenly, being weak and idealistic and hypocritical didn’t seem so bad.

Hanzo pushed a plate towards him that Jesse hadn’t noticed before. It held two small, circular pastries. When Jesse bit into one, rich, aromatic sweetness flooded his mouth, complementing the bitterness of the _matcha_.

They sat in silence, both chewing. In the rectangular, stone-studded courtyard, yellow birds chirped and pink cherry petals fluttered and floated.

“How was the tea?” Hanzo asked after a few moments.

Jesse let out a breathless chuckle. “Beats the boiled dirt I drink every morning back home.”            

—

Hanzo kicked him out of the Castle as soon as acceptable according to what Jesse presumed were the ancient Japanese rules of hospitality. And he didn’t mind. 

They needed time apart. Without it, they would devour each other like fire and oxygen. Jesse already felt consumed, changed on the molecular level. No going back, and he didn’t want to.

And they hadn’t even had sex yet.

With his phone confiscated by a paranoid crime mogul, he divided the rest of his day between exercising off excess energy, eating _everything_ , and drifting through souvenir shops. A real vacation. Nice to not have the Boss-men breathing down his back for once.

Too bad his mind wouldn’t stop ticking.

Jesse was way, way, way out of his depth. Like goldfish-in-the-Mariana-Trench level. Not a feeling he was used to. He’d killed more men as a teenager than the middle-aged assholes who commanded him to do it. He’d probably done enough drugs to be a walking radiation hazard. He’d fucked more women and men and omnics than the average prostitute.

But Hanzo had kissed him and spoken to him and touched his face. He looked at Jesse and _saw_ him. Guns, crack, and sex were incomparable.

Hanzo wasn’t something he could fuck up. He was beautiful and angry and good in a world that was ugly, indifferent, unforgiving. Whatever divine force, whatever random movement of molecules or strings allowing Hanzo to exist likely wouldn’t touch his lifetime again.

Jesse felt his fingers twitch for something stronger than the pack of cigarettes he’d chain-smoked through by the afternoon.

He glanced down the a few alleyways, looking for the familiar, idle form of a dealer. Benzos, preferably, but he wasn’t picky. Anything to turn the gears off. Because if Hanzo could bring out the best of Jesse, why the hell not the _worst,_ too?

Bingo. Jesse’s gaze narrowed in on two shadowed forms by a rusted fire escape. They were talking, which was promising. He leaned against the wall and spun an unlit cigarette restlessly between his fingers—observing, waiting his turn.

Then, the shapes blurred violently. A scream and a crash. A female voice shouted something desperate in Japanese, but it was faint. Muffled by a hand.

“Hey! Get the fuck away from her!” Jesse barked.

Before he could weigh the decision, he pushed off the wall and reached the struggling pair in three long strides. With the fourth, he kicked the assailant in the back of the knees and slung his arm around the man’s throat.

The man shouted a familiar-sounding Japanese expletive and curled his fingers around Jesse’s forearm, trying to pull free. Unhanded, the woman stumbled back. What almost happened became abundantly clear when she hurriedly buttoned up her blouse.

White-hot anger coursed through Jesse’s veins.

“That is NOT how you treat a lady,” he growled into the guy’s ear. Without warning, he smashed the man’s face into the brick wall, relishing in the crunch of his nose breaking. His unconscious body crumpled to the ground. Dark, thick blood, seeping from his nose like a faucet, rendered his face hideous and illegible.

Jesse kicked the man onto his stomach so he wouldn’t have to look at it.

He turned his attention to the woman. She flinched back.

“Hey, hey,” Jesse tried to sound soothing, harmless. “You’re safe. I won’t hurt you.” He wasn’t sure if she understood him, but body language was universal.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” The woman bowed. She was middle-aged and attractive and well-dressed. The kind with a law-abiding job and a family. The kind with a lot to lose. Folks like Jesse didn’t belong on the same side of the street as her.

“You’re welcome, ma’am. I, uh, better get going.” He reached up to tip his hat before realizing he hadn’t worn one. “Stay away from places like this.”

He looked at his hands and was surprised to find them still and confident. The embarrassing anxious trembling somehow stopped. A younger Jesse would’ve chalked it up to adrenaline, but he’d been through enough by now to know the difference.

He smiled and politely declined when the she offered him tea, coffee, money.

Jesse owed the woman a hell of a lot more than she owed him.

—

When he heard Hanzo’s knock that night, Jesse nearly tore the delicate _shōji_ door off its hinges.

Hanzo nimbly jumped ten feet back and assumed a defensive pose. A spooked lion. For a frozen moment, their eyes met and stared. Startled by each other’s existence.

“Have a good day?” Jesse finally asked, looking Hanzo up and down. His hair was long and wet around his shoulders. Freshly showered. He wore a plain black tee shirt and gray sweatpants—an unfairly sexy change from the traditional clothing Jesse had seen so far.

“Yes.” Hanzo considered, drawing near. “Perhaps not productive enough.” He somehow managed to slip past Jesse and into the room without touching him. He glanced back over his shoulder, and Jesse noticed his eyes were dilated. “I have been…distracted.”

Cool. Jesse hated small talk too.

He slid the door shut and followed Hanzo’s lead. Tried to walk silently across the _tatami_ mat. The Shimada had come to a stop in front of Jesse’s bedside table.

He approached Hanzo’s turned back. His arms snaked forward, pulling him close by the waist. Hanzo’s graceful spine fit perfectly against his chest.

“Are these flowers for me?”

“You said you want to be wooed.” Jesse tipped his head down to inhale against Hanzo’s hair. He tried to memorize the pine forest scent of his shampoo.

“How will I explain it to my family?”

However joking, the unwelcome reminder—that the whims of Hanzo’s clan would always chase them—made Jesse frown. But he quickly replaced it with a cheeky grin. “Guess you have to stay here with them then, if you want them.”

When he felt a tug, he loosened his arms so Hanzo could turn around and press forward. Their lips met with a softness Jesse had difficulty associating with Hanzo. Or anybody. Jesse usually liked it rough and carnal. Felt more real that way.

Yet somehow all those other kisses blurred together and faded against this one. He traced his tongue on Hanzo’s lips and licked into the warm mouth that opened. Jesse’s hands trailed up lean and rippling muscles, passed a slender neck, and gripped Hanzo’s face.

He retracted his tongue, only to thrust back in forcefully with the new leverage. A mimicry of what he wanted their bodies to do.

Hanzo moaned through it. The most beautiful music Jesse ever heard. The hot, slick dance of their tongues turned into the sharing of breath when they parted, just barely.

“I need you,” Jesse spoke against Hanzo’s lips. “Tell me you need me.”

Hanzo agreed breathlessly. “Obviously.”

“Say it.” 

He sobered up. “I need you too, Jesse. You are…” Hanzo pressed his hands on Jesse’s chest, guiding him backwards. “Precious. Do not forget that.” Their lips met again, briefly, before Hanzo trailed kisses down Jesse’s neck.

Despite the vulnerable feeling blossoming in his gut, Jesse let Hanzo push him down and back onto the neatly-made futon. It helped that Hanzo followed closely, gliding forward to straddle Jesse’s hips. He felt knuckles brush against his chest and looked down to see Hanzo unbuttoning his shirt with inhuman dexterity.

After a beat of hesitation, he looped his long arms behind Hanzo and explored that beautiful back hungrily. His fingers traced the knobs of spine and grabbed the flexing wings of his scapulae. He dragged his lips and teeth across Hanzo’s collarbone, yanking the black fabric aside for more access.

“Take it off,” Hanzo commanded.

Jesse didn’t need to be told twice. He shrugged out of his open shirt and dragged Hanzo’s over his head.

And _of course_ Hanzo had a gorgeous body. God was a real fucking tease. This had to be divine meddling because Jesse was usually too smart to fall for perfect-and-unattainable.

He ran his fingers across abdominals that could’ve been cut from marble. His exploration moved swiftly upwards to Hanzo’s pecs. When he brushed the pad of his thumb over a pink-brown nipple, Hanzo arched into him.

Jesse had trouble breathing. “Anyone ever tell ya you look like a god?”

Hanzo frowned, then chuckled. “My gods must be different from yours.” He placed a hand on Jesse’s flat, muscled stomach. “But I see they have blessed you.”

Then, Hanzo ground down without warning. Jesse gasped at the delicious, painful friction of his cock against his pants—jeans and cotton.

“You’re killin’ me,” he grunted. And Jesse McCree wasn’t the type to die lying down.

So he wound Hanzo’s long hair around his hand, bucked his hips up, and rolled them. He must’ve overestimated the amount of force he needed, because Hanzo went under him easily. His pained grunt had Jesse rapidly releasing his hair.

The Shimada heir had so much _presence_ that it was difficult remembering how much smaller than him Hanzo was. Lean, but broad and angular. A frame that promised to fill out.

“Fuck, sorry—” Jesse cupped his cheek.

“No,” Hanzo slapped the hand away. “You want me to feel something for you? Make me feel you.”

“Oh, darling, you’re gonna feel me even after I’m done touching you.”

With that, he dug his fingers into the elastic of Hanzo’s pants and underwear and tugged both off with one smooth motion, aided by a well-timed buck of Hanzo’s hips. Since the Hanzo had somehow gotten Jesse’s fly open unnoticed, it was simple to get himself naked too.

Pinning Hanzo’s hips, Jesse sucked and bit a trail down his chest and stomach, sliding his hands down Hanzo’s thighs until he had a hand on each knee. When he tried to pry Hanzo’s legs apart, however, powerful thighs clamped shut.

Confused, Jesse looked up at Hanzo’s face. But he didn’t find the withdrawn permission he feared. Rather, Hanzo’s dark, burning eyes brimmed with challenge.

Something cold and dissonant crept into Jesse’s gut. Nothing playful touched Hanzo’s ruthlessly handsome features. They held something dark instead. The wrong kind of expectant.

“I said touch you, not tear you apart, Hanzo.”

“Nonsense. No one touches me without wanting to tear me apart.”

Instead of trying to figure out where the hell Hanzo got _that_ idea, Jesse spat on his hand, slipped it past Hanzo’s hip and grabbed his half-hardened cock at the base. There would be time for playing shrink later, if Hanzo even let him. They needed _this_ now. A few firm tugs had the other’s thighs falling obediently apart.

“Good job, darling…”

With his other hand, Jesse retrieved the little bottle of oil-based lubricant he had the foresight to purchase at the convenience store that day. He didn’t bother conserving it. The glob of lube he squeezed onto his fingers ran down his forearm.

“You’re clean, right? STD-wise? Because I am.” Jesse was scrupulous that way. It was hard to imagine Hanzo wasn’t.

“Yes. Hurry up,” Hanzo growled. He tilted his hips up at an angle that Jesse suspected would give anyone else back problems.

“Your highness…” Jesse grinned. Without releasing Hanzo’s erection, he trailed his other hand behind his balls, rubbing past his perineum and then moving farther back.

He pressed his index finger against the ring of muscle while keeping a careful eye on Hanzo’s face. A blanket of long hair hid Hanzo’s expression, but strong, blunt fingers dug into Jesse’s biceps.

“Relax…” He muttered, dipping his head down to kiss Hanzo’s belly. “Relax for me.” Pulling back out, Jesse leaned forward to tuck the long, coffee-colored locks behind his ears so he could peck his lips.

Hanzo stared back, wearing the same unreadable look from their first kiss. Then, as if unable to stand the pressure of seeing, he closed his eyes.

Time to try something else…

“Turn over.” Jesse tugged at Hanzo’s hips. The lube made his fingers slide across skin stretched taut over sinuous muscles.

“What?” The shuttered eyes flickered open to give him a skeptical look.

“Trust me, it’ll be good.”

Hanzo flipped onto his stomach with a lack of fuss that surprised Jesse. He liked to think that it was his tender tone that Hanzo responded to.

“Hips up,” he commanded. When Hanzo complied, Jesse was blessed with a view that would accompany with him for many nights to come. As of on their own volition, his thumbs pried apart those firm buttocks. The little ring of muscle twitched at being exposed, and the sight sent a sharp ache straight to his cock.  

“You’re beautiful,” Jesse informed Hanzo’s ass. When its owner began to turn around impatiently, Jesse gave his right buttock a slap. The muscles there tensed and flexed beautifully. “Hold still.”

And since waiting would only deprive both of them, Jesse licked his lips and bent forward. He laved saliva over the little hole before plunging his tongue inside.

Hanzo immediately let out a long, delicious groan. He was prevented from jolting away from the wet sensation by Jesse’s grip. Not that he tried for too long.

“Oh, Gods—” Hanzo was soon pushing his hips backwards, attempting to impale himself hfarther onto Jesse’s tongue. He grunted something in Japanese that, of all things, turned Jesse’s mind blank with lust.

Jesse had the presence of mind to reach forward between Hanzo’s muscular thighs. With fingers still slick with lube, he stroked Hanzo’s erection again. He massaged from root to tip, relishing Hanzo’s aroused shaking.

He synced the thrust of his tongue with the rhythm of his hand. Relentless, hard.

“Fuck…” Hanzo groaned and then spoke more Japanese. He reached back, like he was going to pull Jesse closer. Instead, his head was shoved away. Jesse peered up, concerned.

“Want me to stop?” Now empty, Hanzo’s hole clenched on air.

“No. I need you to _start_.” His rough, baritone growl caressed Jesse’s nerves like velvet.

“Bet no one’s done that to you before.” Jesse wiped his mouth with the back of his cleaner hand. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Princess.”

That earned Jesse a knee to the stomach dangerously close to his very sensitive crotch. With a yelp, Jesse flinched away and rolled off Hanzo. He clutched his complaining gut.

“Shit! Hey, I just stuck my tongue up your ass, and this is what I get?” For some reason, that turned Hanzo’s pale cheeks pink, and Jesse immediately forgave everything. “Uh, you really want this?”

“ _Yes_ , dense American.” He snapped. “Fuck me.”

“Your wish, my command.” Jesse thrust his slick finger into Hanzo’s hole and followed it quickly by a second. It probably hurt, but Hanzo didn’t seem to care. Seemed to need it, judging from the sounds he made.

The air felt flammable.

“Come on, Jesse. Make me feel you.” If Hanzo could still boss him around, Jesse wasn’t doing it right. Inside him, he spread his fingers, stretched, and explored the warmth.

Seconds later, Hanzo went stiff. Then, his lithe body abruptly arched like a stretching lion.

“There you are,” Jesse sighed with satisfaction. He repeated that last movement, and the body underneath him melted into pool of pliancy.

It was unexpectedly easy for Jesse to restrain the urge to cleave forcefully into Hanzo. Easy to prepare Hanzo the kind of thoroughness he’d heretofore reserved for Deadlock heists.

Only after Hanzo growled and clenched in frustration around three fingers did Jesse pull out and tip the rest of the lube onto his engorged, neglected erection. He gave himself a few strokes before pulling Hanzo’s hips in place.

The thick head of his cock bore against Hanzo’s hole. A swift thrust, and Jesse groaned as he watched his veined shaft disappear into the Shimada’s ass.

Jesse paused in case he needed time to get used to it, but Hanzo shoved his hips backwards impatiently. A couple more inches sank into glorious, slick heat.

They both moaned.

“Jesse…move.”

“Y-yeah.”

His hands looked large on Hanzo’s narrow hips, but the young man under him was obviously not fragile—maybe in other ways, but not like this, not now. Jesse would never mistake submission for weakness, especially when it looked so beautiful.

His hips pulled back thrust forward, and Hanzo’s powerful back muscles flexed like heated metal.

“Harder.”

Jesse aimed for Hanzo’s prostate, using the angle he catalogued earlier. He increased the force and depth of his thrusts steadily, confident Hanzo could take it.

Moving his hands to bracket his heaving ribcage, Jesse tugged Hanzo’s torso up and back against his chest. The change of angle sent fissions of pleasure through both of them. Hanzo reached back and grasped Jesse’s ass, urging him _faster, harder_. Jesse ducked his head and kissed the pink tip of Hanzo’s ear.

“How many others have seen you like this? Maybe I got the reason for your clan’s success all wrong. Maybe you’re the secret weapon.”

“Jesse…” Hanzo turned melted brown eyes onto Jesse.

“You know why I ask?” The filthy, silken words poured out of Jesse so naturally it was alarming. “Cause being inside you makes me want to give you everything you want.” He punctuated the end of the sentence with a harsh thrust that jolted Hanzo forward carelessly.

Hanzo gasped. His blunt nails dug into Jesse’s arms hard enough to make him bleed.

Beautiful…

“N-no one.” Hanzo reached back and tangled his fingers in Jesse’s shaggy hair. “Not like this.” He used the grip to steer him into a kiss, their tongues moving languidly together.

His orgasm was building like a pressurized dam, and the stutter of his hips must’ve notified Hanzo.

“Come on, McCree,” Hanzo grunted, clenching down. So, so tight. “Let go. You can—inside.”

The fire in Jesse’s gut burned so hot he was sure his bones, skin, and flesh would be marked forever. He grabbed Hanzo’s hips and pulled him as far onto his cock as he could, grinding their bodies together in a rough glide.

He bit hard on Hanzo’s shoulder as he climaxed deep inside the alluring heat.

Without pulling out, Jesse reached around and took Hanzo’s thick, engorged cock in his hand. Hanzo’s hips thrust automatically forward, desperate for contact, for release. A few strokes later, Hanzo streaked the sheets and Jesse’s fist.

His semen leaked from Hanzo’s hole when he pulled out. He got up and attentively raided the guest room’s adjoining bathroom for toilet paper to clean up with.

When he returned, Hanzo hadn’t moved an inch, except his head to look at the flowers. His hair was pushed back, and his brown gaze was miles in the distance.

Jesse found his pants and fumbled in his pockets.

“You want one?” He offered a cigarette to Hanzo between two fingers.

Hanzo blinked and shook his head. “I do not smoke.”

“You don’t, or you’re not allowed to?” Jesse bit the joint. “Light me up then.”

When Hanzo flicked the lighter on deftly, Jesse couldn’t stop watching the orange flame dance in his mocha-colored eyes. Like phoenix trying to break free.

—

“Good morning McCree. Hanzo has been an acceptable host in my absence, I hope?”

“Of course, Shimada-sama.”

“And the city has been kind to you as well?”

“Yeah. Great food. Great folks.”

“I am glad to hear that. My family takes great pride in Hanamura. Until my ancestors came to this city centuries ago, the people here lived in squalor. Today, it is the heart of Japan. Those so-called heroes call us cruel, but they accomplish nothing. To be efficient is to be ruthless.”

“The Deadlock admires the Shimada’s institutional control over the city.”

“Your gang does, but do you, Jesse McCree? You are still young enough to believe in justice.”

“If you own the city, you make the laws. That’s all justice is.”

“Wise words, but the way you are looking at me betrays your idealism—no, boy, you are not as good at hiding as you think.”

“Sorry, Shimada-sama, but I’m not seeing the point of all this.”

“No room for philosophy in negotiation? I will put it simply then. What will you offer a man who has everything?”

“Santa Fe.”

“A dirty city that lives decades behind the rest of the world?”

“Doesn’t make it less of a sanctuary. You must know that with that new progressive mayor, LA’s gonna be cracking down on your trade lines. Until you get a feel for how they plan to do that, your inventories have to go somewhere, maybe for years. Your closest outpost in Chicago is eight hours away by hypertrain and there’s no chance you can get all those guns and drugs in the air without at least DEA sniffing around. Keeping a steady supply back to California? Huge costs. And you can’t even jack up prices ’cause you gotta stay competitive in America.”

“What is to stop me from taking your city, or any other, without permission? We are stronger than you by many times.”

“The same thing that’s stopped Overwatch from extinguishing your clan for years. Why they probably never will, even though they have a god-damn gorilla from the moon on their side.”

“A band of fools. And what reason is that?”

“Ya’ll know Hanamura and they don’t. Just like we know Santa Fe and you don’t. Remember Vietnam? And Australia? You’d be fighting on the wrong side of a guerilla war.”

“A fair analysis, McCree. But as I have said, Santa Fe is a ruined city in the middle of a wasteland. It would take months to develop my own infrastructure, my specialized facilities. Since you think I am so keen on keeping costs down, tell me how you think entering a strange city will help.”

“Because money isn’t the only way to store wealth. You’re a businessman, Shimada-sama, I don’t need to explain how investment works. Knowin’ how important California is to you, I bet you’ve already done the research on several cities. If LA becomes a sunk cost, you need somewhere cheap and lawless to move.”

“Cheap and lawless? This is your home you speak of.”

“So you know I’m telling the truth.”

“The truth...tell me, boy, if you do not have a family and do not value your home, what do you believe in?”

“I guess you could say I’m still looking. But you don’t really care about me. You want to know what the Deadlock wants.”

“Tell me then, mouthpiece. What makes the Deadlock tick?”

“I’m…”

“Well?”

“Access to Manila. Open borders. The models I brought—gifts, by the way—are the ones we plan to sell there. Nothing dangerous enough to attract international attention. They have a taste for American guns in the Philippines, and you can’t supply that demand.”

“A large market. Do you understand how much you are asking for?”

“Nothing unequal to what we’re offering. It’s simple quid pro quo. Manila for Santa Fe. Of course, you can send someone to take a look first. Unlike you, we ain’t pressed for time.”

“Tread carefully, boy. I do not take kindly to presumptiveness.”

“My apologies, Shimada-sama.”

“Remember you are not in America anymore. Now, I have men to consult and other business to attend. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Shimada-sama.”

“One more thing, McCree. You are not to leave the castle until our negotiations have concluded.”

—

Jesse pinched the bridge of his nose, digging his fingers into the corners of his eyes. Negotiation always left him feeling restless and slimy. The special brand of torture Hanzo’s father inflicted on him was no exception.

A blunt ache threatened to spread from the base of his skull, and he reached to rub the spot.

Someone else’s fingers beat him there.

Jesse flinched forward and whipped around, clutching the back of his head. When his gaze lighted on his attacker, his broad shoulders twitched and tensed against his will before relaxing.

Hanzo raised an elegant eyebrow.

Trying to hide his skittishness, Jesse chuckled. “Jeez, what did I say about creaking a floorboard?”

“We are standing on grass.”

Jesse flicked his eyes to Hanzo’s feet sheepishly before looking back up.

The Shimada heir wore orange training clothes that matched what he’d seen Genji in. Except Hanzo looked immaculate. His coffee hair had been brushed and tied back since Jesse messed it up last night, and his layered collar sat symmetrically over graceful clavicles. His expression was serene, if not slightly sleep deprived.

Not hollowed out and shredded like Jesse felt.                                                                               

“Right. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Jesse grasped Hanzo’s still-outstretched hand in both of his. Pale fingers against sun-kissed ones. “How do you even pull off orange?”

Hanzo watched him, brows furrowed. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Jesse.” Hanzo’s thumb brushed his knuckles. The gentleness felt undeserved and hollow. His head, cracked open, unsteady.

“How can I trust you?” Jesse blurted out. “And how do you know you can trust me? My gang’s success rests on your clan fucking up. I’m not sure if your dad’s holding me prisoner or hostage.”

“Jesse.” Hanzo repeated, gently this time. “There is no easy answer except that I do not know. Neither of us can know. My father does not know either—but he is not willing to take the risk that I have taken.”

“I…” Jesse shook his head, lost in his thoughts. This uncertainty, to feel so untethered, was as agonizing as it was addicting; he felt hooked on a feeling money and reason couldn’t replicate. What did it make him? Dumb? Suicidal? Drifting away…

The baritone music of Hanzo’s accent pulled him back from the edge. “Spar with me.”

“Huh?” He looked at Hanzo to discover his expression glimmering with empathy…and challenge.

“Or do you Americans only know how to pull triggers?”

In high school, Jesse had been the best amateur wrestler in New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas. He might’ve gone farther—scholarship level—if his county actually gave a shit about education. Not that his skills hadn’t proved useful elsewhere.

The prospect of sparring with Hanzo, of learning his body in different visceral way, was an invitation he couldn’t turn down.

Jesse managed a grin. “You’re on.”

“Follow me.” Hanzo turned around with the ease of a river changing course, and Jesse eyed the lines of his bony ankles.

No surprise the Shimada had a private _dōjō_. Hanzo slipped out of his sandals; Jesse toed off his boots and socks. They entered barefoot a massive, empty room whose ceilings were as high as the walls were wide. He wondered if that feature had more to do with the Shimada’s acrobatic fighting style than being grandiose.

Sunlight filtered in through the _washi_ paper windows, and the walls displayed a spectacular collection of swords. Some were the length of a dagger, some were longer than Jesse’s height, and many inexplicably glowed. Most had wooden replicas for sparring.

Jesse paused at the one that looked like a giant butcher’s knife. “I thought you were gonna fight me, not turn me into sushi.”

“That depends on _you_ ,” His companion returned with a way-too-innocent grin. And way too attractive. Jesse shivered at the mental image of Hanzo brandishing a blade twice his size.

But Hanzo left the pointy objects alone. Instead, he undid the ties on his chest and separated the white and orange folds until his shirt hung around his waist.

“Wait, I thought you were being literal about the sparring—” He shut up when Hanzo shot him a razor glare.

“Do your thoughts ever leave the gutter?” Jesse froze for a second, ready to get to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but Hanzo offered him an amused smile. “Clothes feel restrictive to me,” he explained.

Jesse stared at the carved planes of his chest. “You’re basically cheating now, but I’m totally okay with tha—shit!”

His arms were suddenly full of a pouncing Hanzo. Jesse swayed back heavily, stumbled on the subtly springy mat covering the ground, but managed to catch them both. Hanzo’s eyes widened at this impressive show of strength, but the surprise was momentary.

Before Jesse could throw him down, the ninja was out of his arms. With the swing of a leg, Hanzo converted his forward momentum into rotational force. His thighs and left calf formed a triangular chokehold around Jesse’s neck, and he flipped backward and twisted. 

Gasping, Jesse went down.

“Do you surrender?” Hanzo’s bare, lithe chest rose and fell right in front of Jesse’s face. His fingers tore at the iron vice of Hanzo’s thighs, but the hard muscles simply clamped down harder. Cut off more air.

Jesse finally held his hands up. Hanzo released him and jumped into a graceful crouch. “Ugh.” He coughed. “Okay, you win. Zero to one. Best of three?”

“I accept.”

Since no one had the element of surprise, the second round lasted much longer.

It was as lopsided as it was symmetrical, as much of a dance as a fight. Their styles were mismatched: Hanzo’s fleet-footed blend of martial arts and gymnastics against Jesse’s strength and reflexes. Neither of them wholly countered the other. It became as much an intellectual battle as a physical one.

Having determined early on that he couldn’t directly overpower Jesse, Hanzo relied on speed and flexibility to dodge and land blows where Jesse was vulnerable.

There was a leonine grace, powerful but economical, in every movement Hanzo made. His lithe body kept escaping Jesse’s reach, hair lashing through the air like physical laws weren’t fast enough to keep up with him. He understood why Hanzo didn’t like clothes.

Exhilarating.

No one challenged Jesse like this before, one-on-one. Not his peers; not the goon his boss sent that time he got too mouthy.

And frustrating.

Jesse was gonna have a stupid amount of bruises tomorrow. He landed some glancing blows on Hanzo, but they were at a stalemate. The ninja couldn’t get close enough to him to try another pin, and Jesse couldn’t get past his swift blocks and dodges. A battle of attrition.

Where Jesse slowly gained the advantage. That much mobility was impossible for even Hanzo to maintain.

One delayed reaction, and Jesse got a grip on Hanzo’s ankle. He jerked it up, toppling Hanzo over like a bulldozed tree. His opponent twisted like a crocodile in a death roll, but he was too late. Jesse’s famously herculean grip had settled, and Hanzo’s leverage was gone.

His regal face tightened with pain as his ankle failed to follow the twist of his body. Ha! Jesse snatched Hanzo’s other ankle, kneeled down, and bent his calves up as if to hogtie him. He used his weight to pin Hanzo’s lower body before dragging Hanzo’s arms back, marveling at how flexible the other was.

“Surrender?” He panted.

The sweaty, muscular back under Jesse rippled beautifully, as if making extra sure he was stuck. Then, Hanzo conceded, panting. “One to one.”

Jesse sat back onto his haunches, and Hanzo got out from under him and quickly turned over. Body reclining and propped by his arms, Hanzo ran an appraising gaze over Jesse.

The Shimada heir looked embarrassed at the loss, but also intrigued. Jesse grinned, elated to be deemed a worthy opponent.

When they caught their breaths, they faced each other again. Hanzo’s proud countenance glowed with determination.

They circled like rival apex predators. When Jesse stepped forward experimentally, Hanzo reacted with a step back.

Hanzo kept refusing lunge, so Jesse taunted. “Trying to win by getting me dizzy?”

“Trying to see if you have an aggressive side.”

“Last night not aggressive enough for you?” He remembered the other walking slowly—too proud to limp—out of his room in the early blue morning.

His opponent lifted his regal chin. “I have been done worse.”

“Who?” A primal jealousy rose in Jesse’s throat. He knew he was being goaded, tested, but he didn’t care. “I’ll show you aggressive. I’ll show _them_ aggressive too.”

Hanzo raised a skeptical eyebrow with a calmness that pissed him off. “I’m sure you will.”

With a shout, Jesse launched himself across the gap that had grown between them. Hanzo stepped out of his warpath easily, moving to hook an arm around his neck from behind.

Like a bronco, Jesse jerked his body and threw him off. Hanzo’s lithe form spun into a backflip before landing on his feet gracefully halfway across the massive room.

“Show off.” Jesse muttered.

“How the hell are you so strong?” Hanzo’s eyes were wide as realized how far he’d been thrown.

“You got your secrets, I’ve got mine.” Jesse grinned. “Maybe you’re just really light.”

Even from afar, Hanzo’s glare was potent.

At some invisible signal Jesse couldn’t pinpoint, they bolted towards each other and met in the middle, a swift clash of limbs. The loss seemed to have filled Hanzo with new determination, which translated into somehow getting even faster.

Jesse found himself on the defensive, catching blows with his forearms and palms. The punches and kicks came too fast for Jesse to mount an attack of his own.

It was mesmerizing to watch. Hanzo’s regal face, focused only on Jesse, furrowed with effort. His skin glowed with sweat and exertion and…blue.

Jesse squinted, wondering if he was hallucinating. But now that he was looking , it was unmistakable. Each punch and kick his opponent threw was trailed by wispy blue energy, faint and formless. As if Hanzo was channeling magic. Or possessed by some demon.

What the hell? Jesse had heard rumors of mystic powers endowed to martial arts masters, but he’d called bullshit. The world was too small these days for that kind of thing to go unnoticed.

He didn’t have long to wonder. The opening left by a moment’s distraction cost him all of the air in his lungs. Hanzo elbowed Jesse in the chest and spun with a roundhouse kick that sent him sprawling.

“Oof!” Jesse clutched his chest in pain. He didn’t have the time to recover before Hanzo had him pinned. He noticed the blue was gone.

Hanzo straddled his hips and shoved his forearm under his chin, forcing Jesse to lift his head and bare his neck. When Jesse reached to push Hanzo off, fingers cupped his throat in warning.

“Uh,” Jesse stumbled. “Best of five? For the record, I’m used to guns.”

“And I to swords. We Shimada do not need technology like yours to prove we are strong,” Hanzo said, though he was breathing pretty heavily himself. His face was inches above, silk bangs tickling Jesse’s nose. Was that a flicker blue in his eyes? “The trick is to master the body.”

“Holy shit, I am so turned on right now.” If Hanzo’s forearm pinning his throat had not made it impossible to raise his head without choking, he would have bitten into those soft, parted lips.

“Pardon?” Hanzo shook his head to clear it. Whatever magic he summoned was gone completely now.

Jesse decided that bucking his hips up so that his hard-on was pressed unmistakably against Hanzo’s thigh was a better option than repeating himself.

Judging from his pupils dilated, Hanzo was getting with the program.

Jesse tried flipping them. Hanzo predicted the movement and countered it by slamming down. When their hips collided forcefully, arousal jolted like electricity up his aching spine.

When he growled in frustration, Hanzo smirked crookedly through the hair falling over his face.

“I believe you lost, McCree. And as the loser, cannot take what you want.”

“Is that so, Shimada?” Jesse’s mind raced through ways to counter and take back control, but part of him didn’t want to try.

“Yes. But as the winner, I can.” With one more threatening squeeze to Jesse’s throat, he poured himself gracefully to his feet. “On your knees.” Jesse sat up, eyes on Hanzo’s disheveled hair.

Jesse technically didn’t bet anything, but Hanzo _did_ win.

Though he’d be lying if he said it was out of selflessness that he undid Hanzo’s belt, pulled away the fabric, and freed his flushed erection. “You know I’ll do whatever you want anyway.”

He leaned forward and kissed the red tip of Hanzo’s cock. Like that, he gazed up at Hanzo’s face. When their eyes met, Hanzo drew in a sharp breath. His hands tangled in Jesse’s thick hair.

Jesse licked a stripe down the side of his proud shaft, his cheekbones brushing against the hard flesh. Then, he made his way back to the head and sucked it into the warmth of his mouth.

“Gods—” Hanzo wrung out.

Jesse curled his fingers around Hanzo’s hips and gave a light tug, signaling permission to thrust. No response. Wondering what kind of reservations he could possibly have, Jesse pushed his head forward and forced more of Hanzo’s thick length into his mouth.

The ruined moan from above caressed Jesse’s ears like an orchestra. He tugged Hanzo’s pants farther down and palmed those firm buttocks. With practiced ease, Jesse relaxed his throat even more, allowing the entire pulsing erection to slide past his lips.

“Jesse—” Hanzo was pulling his head back by the hair, and Jesse got the message. _Move_.

So he did, feeling like a musician as he elicited pretty moan after desperate grunt from the majestic creature before him. Every muscle of Hanzo’s torso trembled and flexed as he lost himself to pleasure, and, to Jesse, that view was better than being touched. Neither of them lasted long.

“Jesse,” Hanzo grunted urgently. “I—”

An affirming rumble from Jesse around his hardness, and he was coming. Hot and bitter, right down his throat. Jesse found himself following Hanzo shamelessly over the edge. He swallowed against Hanzo’s cock and gave a final lick before pulling off. He sat back and rocked his jaw back and forth, working out the soreness.

“Let me—” Hanzo crouched, reaching for Jesse’s cock.

He chuckled. “Already taken care of. I need to, uh, change pants.”

“I…see.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope no one else has,” Jesse muttered.

Hanzo’s expression was still dazed, clouded from his orgasm, but his next words rang confident and clearheaded.

“I do not know how we can trust each other, Jesse. However, of a few things I am certain. I am not my clan, and you are not your gang. If my father tries to deal you injustice, I will stop him.”

Injustice. Jesse wasn’t used to thinking of his life in terms of justice. At home, that concept was as fluid as the sand.

But he wasn’t home. He was with Hanzo. Regardless of the words and blows they threw at each other, this wasn’t about power. This was something more fragile, unattainable. Jesse tugged Hanzo close and inhaled against his hair, memorizing the musky scent of sweat.

Maybe he was tired enough to sleep well that night.

—

“WATCH OUT!” Jesse screamed, but his voice didn’t carry. He tried to sprint forward and knock Hanzo out of the way, but his limbs moved like molasses. “NO!”

A bullet, large and sharp and somehow visible to Jesse, penetrated Hanzo’s chest and came out of his back before sinking into the wall behind him. The Shimada’s lithe body rocked precariously before hitting the ground with an echoing thud.

Released from his invisible leash, Jesse ran to him. Headless of the danger.

Hanzo’s face was cold and white, its anger and vibrancy sucked away by that damned hunk of metal. Jesse let out another silent scream, grabbing at Hanzo’s wrists to feel for a pulse. Instead, he found the freezing iron of manacles. Bile rose in his throat as he followed the chains, severed puppet strings, to their shadowed origin. As he walked, light disappeared completely.

Darkness surrounded him. Void. Then—

Something was shaking him, dragging him from the violent clutches of sleep. Jesse turned groggily, reaching a hand out to swat that thing away. When his wrist was caught with trained deftness, alarms finally blared in his head.

Well-honed survival instincts finally kicked in in. His eyes blinked open, instantly wide awake.

“Wuh?” He immediately zeroed in on his assailant. “Oh, hey, beautiful.”

He ruthlessly checked the urge to grab Hanzo, hold him tight, and feel his warmth.

“Gods, you sleep like a dead man.” He looked unimpressed. “What kind of international criminal cannot wake up at the first sign of danger?”

“I’m the castle of a ninja clan,” Jesse retorted, rubbing his eyes vigorously. “A _fly_ can’t get in this room without permission. I’m only getting murdered if your dad wants me murdered, and I can’t stop him if he does. No point in the extra effort.”

“Lazy American.” His tone was fond. The nightmare suddenly felt distant. Hanzo was alive; everything was fine.

Yet, Hanzo’s expression, which had looked urgent when he was waking Jesse up, morphed into something unsure and searching. “Uh, you okay?” Jesse reached for Hanzo, who backed away.

“McCree, what do you want?”

Jesse frowned, more at the use of his last name than the unexpected question. “I should be asking you that?” What stupid early hour even was this?

“You are intelligent and strong. There are easier ways to impress your gang or become rich. So why—” 

“Oh fuck, did I do that?” Hanzo’s left ankle, mottled severely with blue and yellow and purple, suddenly drew Jesse’s attention. He reached haltingly for it. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I did not feel it at the time.” Hanzo responded impatiently, tucking his ankle out of Jesse’s sight. “Now listen to me. There is a more important matter at hand.”

Jesse nodded, unable to get the image of chains and manacles out of his head. “Right. Shoot.”

“My father will kill you.”

Jesse chuckled. “I thought you had _news_.”

“An hour ago, two of my family died by American bullets. Deadlock bullets. We found casings, but lost the perpetrator.” Hanzo gazed at Jesse searchingly. “Tell me you had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, shit. I had nothing to do with it. I was sleeping.” He inspected Hanzo right back. “You okay?”

“That doesn’t make you innocent. You could have helped the murderer at some other time.”

“Well I _didn’t_.” Jesse was getting frustrated. “I might be reckless, but I don’t actively seek death.” He didn’t mention how that latter statement seemed less true by the day.

Fear flashed on Hanzo’s attractive face. “I believe you, but he will not. He wants justice. My father’s men are on high alert. Even if you run…”

 _Oh_.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jesse took Hanzo’s hand, feeling strangely calm at the prospect of death. He was more bothered by how Hanzo seemed to be calculating, eyes sharp with desperation. “Hanzo…”

“You said you will do anything I want, correct?” Hanzo’s lean fingers fiddled with the bottom of his tee shirt.

“Anything. You wanna get your money’s worth?” Getting kinkily laid was not a bad way to spend the last hours of his life.

“Good.” Hanzo slipped a hand into the pocket of his charcoal sweatpants and tossed something silver and rectangular at Jesse. A phone. When he looked back up, Hanzo was stripping swiftly.

“Huh?”

“I promised to protect you.” Hanzo’s shirt landed on his face. Jesse may have taken a sniff before tossing it away. “You need a way to convince my father to let you go.”

“You got an idea?”

“My father is ruthless, but above all, he is a practical man. Revenge does not blind him.” Hanzo had trouble undoing the tie on his pants. “He will not kill you if he has something valuable to protect.” Jesse noticed he sounded nervous.

“And what valuable thing are you talkin’?” After tossing the phone onto the low table next to his futon, Jesse pulled Hanzo’s hands away from his pants and tugged him close by the wrists. He tipped his head for a kiss, but Hanzo turned away.

He maintained eye contact. “The reputation of the clan.”

Jesse frowned, hoping this wasn’t going where he thought it was. “Can’t you just tell me some important business secret?”

“Then he will definitely kill you.” Hanzo retrieved the phone swiftly and returned to Jesse like an obedient dog. He sank gracefully to his knees right in front of Jesse, who couldn’t tear his eyes away from elegant collarbones and muscular shoulders.

“Hanzo—”

“Come on, McCree.” Hanzo pressed the phone, camera open, into Jesse’s hand. His other hand was brought forward until fingers pushed into Hanzo’s lips. “Make my father ashamed.”

Jesse was ashamed that the words went straight to his dick. “That’s a bad idea if I ever saw one. And I’ve seen bad ideas. Usually mine.”

“I will not let you die.”

“If I’m going down, I won’t take you with me.” Jesse squatted down so they were eye level. He reached forward to fiddle with a lock of Hanzo’s hair. “It’s okay. Everyone dies.”

“You won’t today. I know my father.” His tone left no room for argument. “Our clan has enemies who will use anything against him.”

“You realize I’m gonna be in my twenties soon, right? If he cuts off my dick instead I might as well be dead.”

Hanzo smirked. “Somehow, the thought of you unable to fuck anyone else does not bother me.”

 Jesse chuckled. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He shuffled forward, taking hold of Hanzo’s thighs and guiding them around his waist. Jesse lifted Hanzo easily and walked on his knees to the futon. Hanzo’s arms crossed behind his neck, keeping Jesse close when he leaned forward to place him on the cotton sheets.

Locked down by that grip, Jesse pulled them sideways so they were facing each other.

“Sometimes I feel our blood is water,” Hanzo said, the words coming unbidden. His fingers played with chocolate strands of Jesse’s hair. “There is no love, only fear and loyalty. Water and chains. I feel like I’m drowning.”

“Your family’s taken enough from you.” Jesse bristled at the mention of chains.

“How can that be possible when they have given me everything? Perhaps I am being selfish because I will not let them take _you_.”

Jesse growled, “They didn’t _give_ you me. If that’s is being selfish, you’re really bad at it.” He took a breath. “You don’t have to do this. I seriously hadn’t planned on living this long.”

Honestly, he would rather die than reveal the beautiful thing they had to be known by anyone else, to be turned into just another weapon.

“Dense cowboy,” Hanzo scowled, abruptly shoving Jesse’s chest so hard he coughed. “Do you realize not everything is about you?” Despite the violence, but his tone was gentle. “I need to remind myself that he does not control me. And…you are part of me.”

Like this, it was impossible for Jesse to believe Hanzo was related to his callous, manipulative father. “Then what’s keepin’ you here, under his thumb?”

“The same thing that brought _you_ here. That drives all men.”

“Yeah?” People were so _different_. That was a hell of a thing to believe. “And that is?”

“Honor.” Hanzo gazed at the blank ceiling. “A cruel jailer.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled neutrally. Then, he tugged Hanzo toward and on top of him so that the Shimada’s head was pillowed against his chest. So that he could hear and _feel_ what Jesse said next. “Leave with me then.”

“What the hell?”

“Tell me, Hanzo. If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

“They say my family is richer than the gods.” Hanzo’s nose touched Jesse’s jaw. “Why do you think I need to use imagination to go where I want?”

“Wow, don’t be so humble. But that’s not what I mean. Let me put it this way,” Jesse paused, glancing around for inspiration before his gaze lighted on yet another painting of a dragon. “See that dragon in the picture? He flies above everything. Nothing controls him and no one can hold him back. He’s free.”

Hanzo nodded, looking mildly surprised that the painting existed, like someone too accustomed to seeing past it.

“Tell me what makes you feel like him.”

Hanzo paused for such a long time that Jesse ducked his gaze to make sure he was still awake.

“Swordsmanship. Archery. My brother.” Hanzo finally decided, sounded strained. A dangerous admission that his clan did not belong on that list. “And… _you_. Jesse McCree.”

Jesse’s arms tightened around Hanzo. “I can come back for you after. I don’t give a shit about the Deadlock. If you tell me you never thought about it, you’re lying.”

“That is impossible,” Hanzo sighed. “Not the kind of impossible that you routinely outsmart by being dumb, American,” he preempted Jesse’s protest seamlessly. “And that is not because we barely know each other. What you are proposing is impossible because that is not how we are made.”

“Please, Hanzo...”

Graceful fingers explored Jesse’s chest, pausing over his heart. “You cannot be everything for me. Nor I, for you. If you tell me you do not see that, you are lying.”

Doesn’t mean he had to like it. Jesse grimaced at having his words thrown back at him. He felt locked in, penned by a future he didn’t want. Is this what Hanzo felt every day?

“We need to hurry,” Hanzo finally said, sitting up. “My father has decided to apprehend you at sunrise.”

Jesse rose slowly, expression thoughtful. “You’re wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“About honor.” He pressed his lips to Hanzo’s knuckles. “That’s not what made you kiss me that first night, and it’s not why you’re doing this.”

Hanzo shook his head, unconvinced, but, like Jesse had come to expect, preferred action to words.

He kicked off his pants with a brisk, full bodied movement and parted his knees. For a moment, Jesse simply devoured the glorious sight of his bareness. Then, he took a deep, stabilizing breath before raising Hanzo’s phone.

The lens, unable to capture the powerful dignity Hanzo always exuded, made him look vulnerable. It scared the hell out of Jesse. Perhaps for the better, because fear grounded him. Reminded his very interested cock that this was an act of blackmail, permission from Hanzo or not.

That he was a criminal playing a dangerous game with a dangerous clan. That powerful men wanted him dead. That he was a mere pawn in a world that didn't give a shit.

At least he wasn’t alone.

—

“Two of my most trusted guards—my _family_ —were killed by .308 Winchester rounds. In the world, only your gang sells this type of bullet anymore. Is there anything you would like to offer about the incident, McCree?”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss, Shimada-sama, but I swear I had nothin’ to do with it.”

“This is the first time this piece of weaponry has done us harm, and it happened shortly after I welcomed a Deadlock member into my home. Surely you do not expect us to believe this is a coincidence?”

“It is, but I don’t. I’ve had no contact with anyone in the States since I got here—you confiscated my phone, after all. But it’s pretty obvious you’ve made up your mind about me.”

“If that is the pathetic lie you have chosen to stick with, then I believe we are done—”

“No. You can’t chop off my head yet. I…I have to show my hand.”

“Go on then. Tell me what leverage you could possibly hold over me.”

“I hold…Hanzo.”

“What did you say?”

“Hanzo. Your son is my leverage.”

“Impossible. Hanzo values his family above all else. You dare think you are stronger than our blood?”

“The strength of your blood is exactly what I’m counting on, Shimada-sama. You son hasn’t just been serving tea to me. I…took him. Fucked him. No one else knows, but it would be a shame if—”

“Hanzo! Does this cowboy speak the truth?”

“Stop—I’m not bluffing, okay? I have proof—some photos you sure as hell don’t want getting out. And they don’t have to get out.”

“I do not negotiate with scum like you.”

“Do you want this to haunt the heir to your clan? This shit travels like lightning. There are armies of guys aching to take your family down a notch. Even if _you_ don’t, Hanzo will lose their respect.”

“I will eliminate you!”

“Go ahead if you want. That won’t stop the damage from being done. The moment you kill me, the pictures will be sent straight to my Deadlock friends, and trust me, you don’t want that. They’re a fuck-ton greedier than I am.”

“Is that all you desire, then? Your life?”

“Yeah. Whether you think I’m innocent or not, let me live. I’ll delete everything. That’s all I ask. A small price for Hanzo’s honor.”

“Do NOT speak my son’s name. I suppose your death will not bring my family back to life. If that is the deal, then I accept. My men will look at your evidence to ensure you are telling the truth.”

“Thank you, Shimada-sama.”

“I have one more condition, and it is non-negotiable. After you leave today, you will never return to Japan. If my men see you, they will kill you. Jesse McCree, you shall never see my son again.”

“Fine by me.”

“Then get out of my sight. And Hanzo. Change into your training clothes and come to my room in precisely one hour.”

—

As soon as the Shimada clan head’s footsteps faded away, Jesse turned to Hanzo with a hesitant grin. “Hey, my dick is still intact. Small victories.”

But the heir didn’t spare Jesse a glance. His focus was on the green-haired boy who had abruptly and silently dropped from the rafters. Whom their father had cruelly allowed to witness the exchange.

“Genji,” Hanzo called, gaze pleading. He reached a hesitant, long-fingered hand towards his brother. “Genji, please understand…”

The younger Shimada brother backed up out of Hanzo’s reach as if disgusted by the prospect of his touch. Wide brown eyes glared at Hanzo, who, despite being unfazed by his father, flinched back.

“ _You_ —” Genji’s voice was rough with scorn. He bellowed a string of words in Japanese that caused Hanzo to recoil again. Then, in English: “Even a whore has more honor than you.”

Hanzo’s eyes were cracked with sorrow, and Jesse felt painfully powerless. He ran to Hanzo in surprise when the Shimada heir sank to his knees, head bowed.

“I am sorry, Genji. You were not supposed to find out—”

“You do not understand. You _never_ understand. How can you call me brother when you act like you do not feel anything and then give everything to a stranger?”

Sensing that Hanzo didn’t have the energy to beat any further on the wall of Genji’s mercilessness judgement, Jesse reached out for him.

“C’mon, Hanzo,” he braced a careful hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and winced inwardly at the trembling he discovered there. “He’s being unreasonable.”

“Why are you still kind to him? Do you think he will let you fuck him one last time?” Genji scoffed. “Leave it to some filthy American gangster to break my brother’s streak of perfection.”

“Enough.” Hanzo growled, suddenly menacing. His hand grabbed Jesse’s bicep tightly. “I know what I did and I do not regret it. This is no way to treat our guest—”

“A murderer of our blood!”

“—an innocent man.”

Unmovable, Genji continued to glare at his brother. Hanzo stared back evenly, absorbing and reflecting the rage like a vortex. For a moment, Jesse thought he would have to break up a fight. Then, Hanzo broke their gazes and turned away.

The pressure of his hand left Jesse’s arm. “Where’re you going?”

“You heard my father.”

“What the hell does he want with you?” Jesse demanded, wrapping firm fingers around Hanzo’s wrist to prevent him from leaving. “I’m the bad guy here, not you.”

“But you are not the weak link,” Hanzo responded, sounding too neutral. “In my father’s eyes, you have done right by your family...your gang. I have not.”

“ _Hanzo_ —”

“Jesse. This is not about you.”

—

Unwilling to return to his guest room, Jesse hovered in the courtyard as Genji polished a glowing green sword.

When the clang of metal indicated the commencement of a swordfight, he saw Genji tense as if startled. The noises, echoing with some divine spell, were loud despite sounding like they came from far off.

“What?” Jesse took a hesitant step toward him.

“They’re sparring with real swords, not _bokken_.” Genji murmured, sounding disturbed. “Our father…aims to hurt.”

As if to emphasize that, a pained cry, unmistakably Hanzo’s, magnetized the air. Genji twitched, his fingers tightening on the low table before him so hard that the dark wood splintered off into his hand.

“What the _fuck_? We need to stop him!” Jesse began to sprint in the direction of the metallic battle noises, but Genji appeared suddenly at his side. Jesse choked as Genji grabbed the back of his collar, falling to his knees.

“Do you really think more insubordination will help?” Genji demanded from above. “I thought you wanted to live.”

“I—” Another pained shout interrupted them. Hanzo’s distressed voice, out of breath and begging in Japanese, gouged Jesse’s heart.

“Surely you knew this would happen,” Genji continued, releasing Jesse’s collar only walk in front of him and grab it again. With strength that shouldn’t belong to a kid his age, he dragged Jesse up to his eye level and growled into his face. “What are you to him?”

“I didn’t think—”

“Bullshit.” He shook Jesse hard. “What false promise did you give him?”

“Hanzo knows what he’s doing.” No doubt about that. It didn’t make the full extent of Hanzo’s sacrifice any less sickening, though. “He knows what we are and what we can’t be. I’m not…taking advantage of him. Couldn’t do it if I tried. Believe me, in the end, he chose his family. He chose you.”

 _My brother_ , Hanzo had said, before he said _Jesse_.

Genji’s blazing amber eyes widened as he digested the Jesse’s words and realized what he was hinting at. Gradually, his expression lost its rage.

After a moment, he threw Jesse to the ground and stomped back to his polishing stone. Jesse rolled over, giving himself a second to marinate in the pain in his neck before sitting up.

Genji looked like a kid again.

Still angry at the world and disillusioned with his family, but also idealistic and vulnerable. Worried about his big brother.

They sat in silence. Around them, pink cherry blossom petals fell peacefully, heedless of the ambient pain. Instead of tuning out the cacophonous exchange of shouts and blows, Jesse listened to each sound carefully. He let each tortured cry brand his mind. It was the closest he could get to being there for Hanzo, and it was on the other side of the world from enough.

Jesse wanted to rush into the fray, beat the shit out of Hanzo’s father with his bare hands, and carry Hanzo out of the country like a princess from a tower.

But that wasn’t how stories like this ended.

It felt like centuries had passed and civilizations had risen and collapsed before the sound of sparring stopped.

Like a dog on call, Genji immediately stood and bolted out of the courtyard. Jesse sprinted after him, dodging the guards in the doorway. He thanked God that it was easy to track Genji’s bright green hair because there was no physical way he was catching up to the kid.

“Oh.” He skidded to a stop upon sight of the large door of the Clan Head’s room. For a moment, the magnificent painted panel decorating it trapped Jesse’s gaze.

Yet another dragon. This one was a lonely, twisting creature with a ferocious expression, a stern gaze, and sharp, outstretched claws that contrasted with the gentle bed of clouds they grasped.

The curved composition drew Jesse’s eyes down and down and down, until another sight broke the hypnosis. At the base of the painting, blocking the feathery end of the dragon’s scaly red tail, was—

“Hanzo…”

The Shimada heir was propped carefully in his younger brother’s arms, and both were watched over by the dragon. One of Genji’s hands combed through Hanzo’s messy, untied hair like how Jesse imagined one should soothe a dying animal. The implications of that comparison struck him into action like a defibrillator.

He moved closer and catalogued what he could see of the injuries. Thankfully, though unsurprisingly, Hanzo wasn’t fatally hurt. Not enough blood.

But enough to stain the ground. Large stretches of his clothes were hacked off by a sharp, precise blade. The same blade which left Hanzo’s pale skin slashed with blood and mottled with red marks promising fierce bruises.

Their father was nowhere to be seen. Jesse guessed he dumped Hanzo outside his door and left. He resisted the urge to go after the asshole—Jesse had no chance against a cruel, seasoned warrior.

Genji said something to Hanzo in soft Japanese. Hanzo reached up to muss his green hair, leaving in it a contrasting trail of red.

“I am fine, Genji.” His eyes were comforting and forgiving, but also strained. Saddened. Jesse had seen that look enough on other people to know it disguised something irreversible, something like trauma.

Whatever sick thing his father had done wasn’t gonna heal with Hanzo’s injuries. His tired eyelids, lined with long, dark eyelashes, flickered up as Jesse approached and squatted down next to the brothers.

“Hey.”

“Jesse.”

“You okay?”

Hanzo smiled. “I fought better than expected. I think, deep inside, he is proud of me.”

“You shouldn’t have to earn his god-damn pride like this. If I’d fucking known—”

“Trading a few scratches for your life is a decision I would not consider taking back. Regardless, this disagreement with my father has nothing to do with you. It…has been pending for a long time.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Hanzo. You’re not okay. _This_ isn’t okay. I can see it—”

“I am fine,” Hanzo repeated, pinning him with a stern gaze that almost resembled his father’s. Jesse glared back.

“You heard him, McCree. Go away. Leave us.” Genji finally said, though he looked unwilling to leave Hanzo to enforce that command.

Jesse fixed his stare straight at Hanzo. “Don’t let your clan suffocate you.” He remembered the blue glow. “Or turn you into a monster.”

When Genji went from kneeling to crouching, Jesse got up and stood back. It was clear he was an interloper. He watched the brothers from afar for a few moments before turning away. He needed to pack his suitcase and book a flight.

Does justice still exist if no one fights for it?

As criminal, Jesse probably wasn’t qualified to answer that. Though one thing was abundantly clear: those wounds weren’t his to heal.

—

Somehow, despite everything, Hanzo was allowed to escort Jesse to the airport. He’d insisted, against Genji and Jesse’s combined complaints, that his wounds were okay.

Jesse didn’t bring up Hanzo’s father again.

In fact, he didn’t talk to—or touch—Hanzo at all until they reached the security checkpoint. After making sure the guards’ line of sight was obscured by the crowd, Hanzo stepped close to him, peeking up at Jesse from behind his hood. Oddly timid.

It was impossible for Jesse to stay mad at Hanzo.

“Hey,” Jesse tilted his head, trying to read Hanzo’s expression. “You gonna miss me?”

“Stay out of trouble,” Hanzo replied, face serious. Slender yet strong fingers stroked across his cheek. The cotton bandages on his hands caught on Jesse’s stubble. “You are more than a criminal.”

Jesse chuckled. “Now _that’s_ the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Too bad getting in trouble is the only thing I know.” When Hanzo shot him a glare, he added hastily, “But I’ll try not to. Same to you, okay? Keep pulling against those chains. They have to break someday.”

It came out sounding more like an omen than encouragement.

He tugged Hanzo against his chest, shuddering slightly when he felt Hanzo’s nose press against his neck. “You have a deal.” Hanzo sealed it with a kiss to the corner of Jesse’s mouth. “And perhaps our paths will cross again.”

Funny that it should end like this. On a thread of optimism that never existed in either of them before. Like the Devil had implanted in them, probably through their dicks, the foolish idea that they could somehow break free from Fate.

He was quick to discard that notion as he boarded Flight 1597 to Santa Fe. Not like two love-struck teenagers could tell God how to do his job.

But, Jesse was alive, wasn’t he? Against all fucking odds.

That’s something.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> It would be remiss of me not to mention this work (archiveofourown.org/works/7144019) with a very similar premise, which I encourage everyone check out. I came up with my ideas independently but took my time (okay, hedonistically playing video games instead of) executing them. By the time I saw it, I had written a great deal of mine and didn’t have the heart to abandon it.  
> Let me know what you think! Comments are the best. Look out for a Blackwatch era sequel.


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